


Ethereal

by vegetasprincess



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Better known as, Liam and Louis will show up eventually, M/M, The Guardian Angel fic, There's a tad bit of Zarry but it's past tense, harry is a delightful idiot, niall is a fantastic human being, the MCD is exceptionally temporary, who is also dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetasprincess/pseuds/vegetasprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is dead.  Really, properly, dead.  At least he was the last time he checked.  Then suddenly there was Ireland, and wings and a baby whose heartbeat was, without a doubt, the most important thing in his world.  The baby's name was Niall and he was absolutely beautiful.</p><p>Fast forward to nineteen years later - and nothing about that has changed.  Niall is still beautiful and still so important and Harry is so, so very screwed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ethereal

          My name is Harry Styles, and I’ve always been the firmest believer in karma.  That’s not necessarily to say that I believe that every single move we make determines our fate, but instead that I believe what you put into the world is what you get out of it in return.  If you live your life spewing hatred and anger and resentment, that’s exactly what you’re going to get thrown back at you. 

         Or maybe it’s just that I always secretly hoped that it was that way because let’s face it, I’m gay, and there were a LOT of hateful people around me as I grew up.  It brought me a lot of pleasure to think that every single bit of misery that was being thrown at me was somehow going to come back and smack them in the face. You know, something along the lines of ‘may your milk be forever sour’ or ‘may you always be two cents short of exact change’.  The little things that don’t really hurt anyone.

         It didn’t actually occur to me then that maybe I was projecting bad karma back onto myself by wishing even the slightest bit of discomfort on others.  Like maybe I was perpetuating a terrible, unending cycle of negative karma.  Two wrongs don’t make a right, after all.  I can say that much with absolute certainty.  I can also say for sure that two rights don’t make a left, which is far less helpful and not at all relevant but I’m also part of the ADD generation and this is how my brain works.  It’s a little jumpy, a little spazzy, and a lot of fun at parties.  I have the overwhelming tendency to drag a story out fifteen minutes longer than it needs to be and nine times out of ten I will lose the plot along the way.

         To be fair though, right now there are extenuating circumstances, which I’ll get more in depth about later. 

         Really though, getting back to karma.  I got a lot of negative energy thrown my way.  I threw back... marginally... less.  Enough less that I don’t actually feel bad about it.  I would never wish harm upon anyone or anything.  I’ve always been a protector, not a bully.

         I still can’t help but think, as I lay here dying, that maybe I shouldn’t have thrown the spoiled milk karma out into the world.  Clearly that was the straw that broke the karma-camel’s back.

         It also might have something to do with the guy in the car who hit the guy on the bicycle while driving entirely too fast the wrong way down a one way street, but whatever.  Who am I to judge, right?  I mean, yes, I am the guy on the bicycle, and yes, I was going the correct direction and also _I was on a bicycle_ but that all seems kind of irrelevant now. 

         The guy in the vest who I assume was driving the car looks like he’s about to vomit.  I don’t know if that’s because I’m bleeding everywhere or because he feels bad for hitting me -- Which I hope he does.  I mean, that’s probably more bad karma, sure, but I don’t think it really matters at this point. 

         He hit me with a car. I’m 99% sure that I’m actively bleeding out right now and he’s only staring at me and looking sort of green-- I definitely want him to feel miserable for at least a little while.

         It’s a crappy way to go, no doubting that.  Some people go out in a blaze of glory.  They die protecting the people that they love, or they die in a hail of bullets with cool stuff like explosions going off around them.  I died on a Tuesday afternoon in the same city where I was born, in the alley beside of Angelo’s pizza, right beside of a rotten banana and a broken bottle of rum.  Ah, London, how I love ya. 

 

* * *

       I woke up almost six months later in an eerily similar alley somewhere in Ireland with a splitting headache and what felt an awful lot like a pair of wings.  And I'm almost ashamed to admit that that’s where things got really interesting.


End file.
